Book 4- 1968 (Michael Jackson)

Chapter 23- La Toya, Gorgeous One

                Chapter 22- La Toya, Gorgeous One

                Date: Wednesday, November 6, 1968

                Time: 8:46AM

                LA TOYA’S POV

The first ding-dong of the bell indicated that my first class was about to commence. Reluctantly, I gathered together my little books and keepsakes, piled them in my little, skinny arms, and grudgingly scooted out of Homeroom.

If there was one thing that I knew, I detested Miss Lynch’s Geometry class, but at least I could get it done early in the morning so I never had to have the oppressing thought on my mind throughout the entire school day.

I had Mrs. Cox for that, anyways. It was a wonder how she was even a Mrs., and not a Ms. I supposed I would never know the answer, or perhaps the story, behind that mess.

Of course, it was wrong of me to think like that. I was La Toya Jackson, kind and considerate, and I always did my homework, in addition to returning it on time. That was something that few could proudly boast about.

Then again, I never wanted an incident like what happened in first grade… I loathed even recalling that distressing event. In fact, it was easier for me to just forget about it all and live life.

I caught up with my friend Stacy, who was also in eighth grade. She was about three inches taller than me and had this habit of picking at her teeth, but I enjoyed her company more than nearly anyone else. The only other people whom I exulted in company from were Mom and Rebbie.

“How was last night?” I questioned, making sure that I had a firm grasp on my agenda and the papers beneath it.

“Meh…,” she responded. “It was a dud. Only Marissa and Yolanda arrived. We had ginger ale and peanut butter crackers, and the only film playing was Casablanca. Well, we actually did have one interesting moment.”

“Ooh, please tell,” I cooed, my eyes aglow with excitement. “I wanna know, I wanna know!”

“Alright, alright, sprightly one,” she laughed. After making a sharp turn to the right, she continued. “One of them kissed my brother.”

“Tristan?!” Tristan was fifteen years old, and I had to admit that he was a cutie. He had this adorable smirk that bared just the left side of his teeth, and there was always one Superman curl that cascaded down to his sharp, angled eyebrow. He was bold and bright, yet soft in nature… the perfect combination for girls like me. Well, at least that’s what I assumed.

“Yeah,” she said casually. “He wasn’t all that impressed, but Yvonne loved every little second of it.”

I snapped the fingers of my free hand. “Shoulda known it,” I chortled. “Yvonne’s had a thing for Tristan for a while now.”

“Nearly everyone has,” Stacy reminded.

“True…”

When we hit the lockers, there were a flock of guys standing around a particular section, chatting about nothing in particular. We shot them friendly smiles and waved shyly as we passed by, hoping to get to our minuscule, periwinkle lockers in time. While our school district was not all that ginormous in population, our school was densely inhabited by five hundred middle schoolers, one as young as ten and a few as old as fifteen.

It did take a moment for us to work our way through the sea of boys, but we were fortuitous enough to get to our cubbyholes in time. Maybe, if we were swift enough, we could head to the concession stand and snatch a granola bar before Geometry and the horror of Mrs. Lynch.